Deathly Hallows Alternate Ending Number 33
by TwiLyght Sans Sparkles
Summary: Tom Riddle has an Ebenezer Scrooge experience.


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_EXTREMELY random oneshot I just thought of while listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and browsing job openings on Craigslist. (I'm STILL wondering how those two are connected with this oneshot....let alone each other.) Anyhow, enjoy._

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With _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ and the empty journal tucked under his arm and his free hand clutching his wand, Tom Riddle slowly made his way down the corridor. Students and teachers were all asleep; he was the only one not dreaming at the moment. Of course, one or more could wake up at any time, which was why he had determined every possible escape route and hiding place along the path to the Chamber.

_Thud_. It could have been a footstep; it could have been something falling. Tom halted midstep, swallowing hard, then quickened his pace. Once he got to the Chamber of Secrets, he would have until morning to carry out his plan--far more time than he needed, but it wouldn't hurt to have a little extra. Then he could slip into bed before his roommates woke up, go to the Leaving Feast, and board the train, a brand-new horcrux in his trunk. No one would ever know.

He reached the bathroom a few minutes later and caught himself wishing that the walk had been a little longer. Tom shook the thought away. This was too important to waste time on. Too vital to have second thoughts about. He shifted his wand to his other hand, turned the knob and crept inside, eyes peeled for that ghost who was rumored to haunt this bathroom. What was her name again? Mary? Maude?

The coast was clear. Tom didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he let it out in a sigh of relief. He was alone. Now he could head down to the Chamber of Secrets, say hi to his basilisk, and--

"Hello, Tommy."

Tom nearly jumped out of his skin at both the voice and the hand on his shoulder. He spun around and nearly had a heart attack.

A woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties stood before him. He thought she might have been beautiful at one time or another, but something had scared her beauty away, leaving coarse black hair, deathly pale skin and glassy brown eyes. He fought to catch his breath and swallowed hard, stalling for time while he thought of an alibi.

"Who...who are you?"

She looked hurt. "You don't remember me?"

He took a step back. "Considering I've never met you, no." His back was against the sink now. All he had to do was tell the door to open and slide into the Chamber--but what if this crazy lady followed him? He had to get her out of the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, he smiled and changed tactics. "Why don't you, uh, refresh my memory?"

She smiled. "I knew you didn't forget me, my lord."

"Uh...excuse me?" Girls often fawned over him--part of being gorgeous, he presumed--but not one of them had_ ever_ called him 'my lord.' "I...I don't believe I've ever been called that before," he added when a look of confusion crossed her face.

"You....you don't? But...my lord! That's what everyone calls you!"

"It....it is?"

"Well, everyone who matters, anyway," she said with a shrug. She took a step forward. "But I do believe I'd like to call you something else."

Tom took another step back. "And what is that?"

Her smile turned into a grin. "Mine." And with that, she grabbed his shoulders and pressed her lips against his. Tom fought to escape, afraid he would suffocate or die of the sheer grossness of being kissed by a middle-aged hag, but her grip was surprisingly strong. When he finally managed to pull away, he stumbled back against the wall, gasping for air.

_"Are--you--mental?" _

"As a matter of fact, I am crazy. Crazy for _you_." She moved toward him again, but he ducked under her arm and into the nearest stall.

"Get away from me! You're crazy!"

She put her hands on her hips. "Oh, and you're not?"

"Trust me, lady. I'm more sane than you'll ever be."

Her grin faded slightly. "You're right. I'd better leave you alone and let you get back to whatever you're doing. I suppose it's just as important to me as it is to you."

"Thank y--what?"

"I said, whatever you're doing is just as important to me as it is to you."

"H-how so?"

She shrugged. "All I know is you're about to do something that will ensure you become the man I love." She turned to leave. "I just wanted to burn this momentous occasion into my memory. See you in forty years or so." With a seductive smile, she closed the door behind her.

Tom found it hard to breathe past the knot in his stomach. She was talking about the horcrux. She had to be. Somehow, this horcrux would turn him into a guy that crazy lady would obsess over--and somehow, the idea of actually going through with it seemed repugnant. Nauseating. Vile.

"Tom? What're you doing in here?"

Tom jumped again, turning to face a ghost he wished he didn't recognize. For a long moment, he bit his lip, unable to speak. Then words came tumbling out.

"I'm sorry I killed you! I'm sorry I let the basilisk out and I'm sorry it killed you and I'm sorry I blamed Hagrid for it...." His wand and books had ended up on the floor and he bent to retrieve them. "I'm sorry I was going to use your murder to split my soul into a million little pieces and--"

"You_ what_?"

"I don't want to be crazy!"

"I'm...happy for you?"

"I'm sorry I killed you, Myrtle!" _Now_ he remembered her name. "I'm so sorry!"

He ran out of the bathroom like the crazy lady was chasing him.

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Tom hardly spoke to anyone all the next day. Relief and shame warred within him--shame because of what he had been about to do; relief because he hadn't done it. When it came time to pack, he buried the journal and _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ at the bottom of his trunk. Then he spent the ride back to the orphanage trying to decide what to do with both.

The orphanage was the orphanage--clean but dingy, well-kept but faded. A small group of children played in the bare courtyard. A small girl with stringy blond hair stood a ways off, watching the others play. Tom knew by the look on her face that she had no interest in joining them, but that she desperately wanted something to do.

He opened his trunk and dug around until he found the journal. He approached her, and she shied away. He didn't blame her.

"Here," he said, holding out the journal. "Go on, take it."

"What is it?"

"It's a journal. You write stuff in it."

"Like what?"

"I don't know....stories. Thoughts. Whatever you want, I guess."

She accepted the gift, eyeing him warily. "Thanks."

"Yeah, sure." He raked a hand through his dark hair, then turned and dragged his trunk the rest of the way to his room. He sank onto the sagging mattress, staring out the window. Had Mrs. Cole given him this room simply because it had a lovely view of the outhouse, or because it was the only one available? He had a strong feeling it was the former. He sighed. The idea of immortality was beginning to lose its appeal, but he couldn't shake the feeling that if he didn't get rid of that book soon, he might pick it up again.

And suddenly, as if it had been there all along, a solution presented itself. Tom retrieved the book from the bottom of his trunk, tucked it under his shirt, and headed outside.

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The outhouse was rarely occupied, as no one ever entered it unless all the indoor bathrooms were full. Tom ducked inside and held his breath, then took the book out of his shirt and looked at it. The gold-embossed title had looked so inviting a few weeks ago, but it seemed sinister now. He tossed it into the hole and turned away as it sank into the muck.

Once outside, he took a deep breath of the fresh air. A sense of freedom he had never felt before washed over him. No more horcruxes....no more Lord Voldemort.

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Hermione reappeared in Ron's bedroom just as the Polyjuice Potion began to wear off. Harry and Ron rushed over and helped her stand.

"So did it work?"

"I...I don't know," she said. "He seemed pretty freaked out."

Ron sniffed. "He should've, considering it's Bellatrix Lestrange we're talking about."

Harry was about to agree--then he gasped. The stinging sensation that had been his constant companion for the past two years had vanished. His hand flew to his forehead. "It's gone!"

"What's gone?" they both wanted to know.

"My scar! It's gone!"

Ron and Hermione smiled at each other, then at Harry. After a moment of wonder, Harry pulled his shoes on.

"Where are you going?"

"Godric's Hollow, of course! I'm going to see my parents."

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End file.
